In November
by Roten Knochen
Summary: While removing the nuclear missiles from Cuba in 1962 as per arrangement with the United States, The Soviet Union gets some heat from the host nation and he isn't quite sure what to make of it. Small drabble


_November  
1962_

The tall Russian idly fanned himself with the manila folder filled with documents he held, his other hand coming to rest on his brow, shielding his eyes from the harsh Caribbean sun. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, his nape, dripping down his back underneath his shirt. Sometimes the weather in Cuba could be agreeable. Today just wasn't Ivan's lucky day.

The sounds of the large army trucks driving away with their nuclear loads, deconstruction, and the loud Soviet planes ahead were cacophonous and Ivan could barely hear himself think let alone give instructions to the Soviets stationed there as well as the native Cubans. The missiles in Cuba were short-lived. Ivan should have known better than to act so carelessly. Cuba was positioned so close to the United States, Ivan could not believe his brashness. For years he had been so careful, leaking only what he wanted to leak to his Western enemy, and here he had been sloppily caught.

"Ivan!"

And that was his other problem. He turned and squinted through the sunlight, a dark figure approaching him, his gait one of obvious displeasure. Ivan recognized Cuba and recognized that tone. Normally in friendly atmospheres, Carlos took to calling Ivan 'compañero,' the Spanish equivalent to 'comrade.' If he was dissatisfied with Ivan's conduct, he switched to a first name basis, respect being thrown to the wind.

Carlos halted in front of Ivan and threw a thumb back towards the bright yellow building about a mile away from the missile site. "I need to talk to you."

Russia gave the other a soft smile which could be mistook as apologetic. "I am working, Carlos. If we don't get these missiles transported soon, I'm afraid I won't be able to protect either of us from Alfred's temper."

"You can take a break."

There was no negotiating and Carlos's usually bright expression was diminished to a glower. He turned and headed back in the direction he came. Ivan sighed and glanced back at the progress of the trajectile removal before following behind his ally.

The building was a nice reprieve from the sun, but it was stuffy and Ivan didn't know which was worse, suffocating on the humidity or sun poisoning. Carlos held open a door for Ivan, motioning him to step inside and closed the door behind them. The Cuban moved to the back wall, opening a window and letting the breeze sneak into the room. He stayed at the window, staring out to the ruin in the distance.

"I guess it's too much to ask for any sort of consultation before dealing in affairs that directly concern me."

Ivan pursed his lips, letting the quick, accented Spanish work in his brain for a bit, picking it apart and then attempting to reconstruct a reply. Carlos was already quite good at Russian, his capacity for learning languages impressive, but they had a deal that meant Carlos would speak Russian in Russia and Ivan would speak Spanish in Cuba. Ivan wasn't as swift as the other to say the least.

"If you are asking about the negotiations, then I am disappointed. I needed to work swiftly. Alfred has lived in a deep-set panic and paranoia for a while now. If it weren't for me, you and your little island may have been blown off the map by now."

Ivan could see Carlos's thick, calloused hands gripping the sill tightly, the wood giving a short groan until he let go and turned to face the other, dark, oblong eyes set into a squint. "But that is not the pointed, Ivan. That is not what I'm trying to make you understand. Yes, it was an urgent matter, risky, and dangerous, but it dealt solely with _my _country."

"Oh Carlos, I really don't understand why you are getting so worked up over this," The taller of the two found his way to an old leather chair positioned in front of the desk that separated himself from Carlos, "I saved you from-"

"I did not ask you to save me!"

The sudden loudness of the other's voice made Ivan wince.

"I have never once asked any of you people to save me! Not Spain, not the United States, and certainly not you! We are supposed to be allies, Ivan, and as allies, I never once gave you any permission to strike any sort of deals with that _fucking_ traitor! And now I am going to be left unprotected, and then what will happen? Another Bay of Pigs, I'm sure- No, I am _positive!"_

Ivan watched silently as the Cuban worked himself up, his Spanish spilling from his lips like bullets, his hands waving in the air rather fanatically, the fire in his mud-brown eyes. He had never seen the other so upset before and he suddenly became curious about those who may have seen him in such a frenzy.

"Ivan, I am not one of your satellites. I do not belong to you! I am independent!" At the word 'independent,' he slammed his fist on the desk. "You do not decide anything about me without me, do you understand? Nothing!"

Violet eyes narrowed and his lips pursed a moment. He wasn't quite used to being... shouted at like this. At least, not by anyone he considered on a lower status than himself. Yes, he had an amount of respect and admiration for Carlos, but he wasn't a France, he wasn't a Chinese Empire, he wasn't an America. He was a little island resting in the shadow of a very developed, very important nation. Did he not realize that barely anyone knew who he was? He had put himself out to the world with his successful Revolution and his switch to communism, but he wasn't like the rest of them. No one really... cared about him and his palm trees and his golden sunsets. They cared about his tobacco, his sugar. Not his missiles or his politics.

"Alright." Ivan answered quietly. Carlos met his gaze with Ivan's.

"Alright?"

"Yes, alright." Ivan stood from the chair, the furniture whining in relief.

"I want the missiles to stay."

"Carlos," Ivan's expression pained, "You know that I cannot do this. The documents have been signed, the negotiations are done. There is nothing more we can do than transport these things back to the Soviet Union."

"What did you agree on sending back?"

Ivan looked confused for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"What did you send back?" Carlos reiterated, voice stating firmly.

The Slav continued to look at him a moment until he took the folder and set it on the desk before opening it and pouring over its contents for a brief tick.

"Every missile and their support equipment, the IL-28's..." He flipped through a few more pages, trailing off.

"That's it?" Carlos asked, his arms folded over his chest as he peered down at the Russian hunched over the desk.

"Yes, that is it." He glanced up at the other.

"Alright."

"Alright?" Had the Cuban's wrath really been appeased? Was the entire purpose of this conversation just an excuse for Carlos to yell at him, let out his growing frustrations?

"Remove the missiles. We didn't want them in the first place. But the _others_ stay."

Ah, that was it. Ivan straightened after neatly fitting the rest of the documents back into their folder, a look of understanding smoothing his features.

"I don't... approve of this decision... but I will consent, merely as an apology for not letting you in on the compromise. You can keep them."

Carlos's shoulder stayed tight and he nodded, appeased. He turned back to the window then, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the sweat from his face and neck. Ivan took this as a dismissal and he left the room.

When he stepped into the hallway, his lips immediately dipped down, settling into a frown, his brow creasing. No, he hadn't been yelled at like that before, not with that degree of intensity and rage over something he considered such a little occurrence. It caused him to question if maybe he made the right decision, giving Carlos what he wanted. He feared perhaps he would regret that decision. Maybe, he would regret this alliance in general. Carlos seemed akin to a time bomb, ticking away slowly with each poke he received from those acting against his will. With his new-found strength, there was a new-found air of arrogance and importance lingering around his head like a fog. Would that lead to his downfall or maybe keep him steady on his path?

Ivan squinted as he stepped outside, the sun cruelly piercing his eyes once again. He hesitated outside, looking out over at the landscape. The palms were tall and swaying lazily in the breeze, the clouds were pure white and thick, slowly rolling over the island yet never passing over the jarring sun. He could look past and see the bright blue sea and beyond, nothing though he knew if you tread far enough over the waves you would find some other world.

Regret was not something he would feel from this alliance, but it would be a sincere pity if anything were to go awry.

* * *

_During the Cuban Missile Crisis, negotiations about what were to be done with the missiles in Cuba went on between the United States and the Soviet Union but failed to include Cuba. Fidel Castro threw such a loud fit over it to the Soviet diplomat there in Cuba that the Soviets felt compelled to comply with at least something to appease Castro's wrath. They allowed him to keep nuclear tactical rockets but removed all the 42 major missiles. The United States was unaware of this as the rockets weren't actually in the official negotiations to be removed and they didn't know that they were there in the first place. However, these also went several months after once the Soviets realized that Cuba was armed, pissed off, and dangerous. Relations between the Soviet Union and Cuba weren't the same after although they continued to be strong allies and support each other. The Cubans never quite trusted them again._

_Okay, Cuba is literally my favorite character in Hetalia and I have poured over so much history about him and I'm constantly let down by what I see regarding him as a nation in the fandom. Writing this helped me fulfill a personal obligation and distracted me during class haha~_


End file.
